“It will take him into the forest.”
“That is well; the forest is his home.”
“He must keep his hatchet keen, for the Pequods may lurk along the track.”
“A Narragansett does not fear a Pequod.”
“It is well; now let the Fox listen.”
In a few decided words, the Yankee informed the young man what he wished him to do. Having thoroughly mastered it and acquiesced in the service, he took his weapons, tightened his belt, and left the post, taking the trail which led to the camp of Wampset.
CHAPTER VIII.
“THERE’S MANY A SLIP ’TWIXT THE CUP AND THE LIP.”
Van Curter and his men made good time in their march to Windsor, and at four o’clock in the afternoon they were encamped behind the three hills. Hardly had they settled themselves to wait for night, when Carl Anselm came in. His face was disfigured by the knife-cut; the blood lay in thick clots about it, and his small eyes sparkled with vicious fire under his heavy brows. He made his way at once to the place where Van Zandt sat, under a large maple tree.
“Welcome, Carl,” said the captain. “In the name of the saints, what is the matter with your face?”